


Fall Far From a Tree

by theMiragePrismatic



Series: Walk Towards the Seventh Dawn [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Filling in Canon, Gen, Minfilia's Mother, Speculating on Character's Backstory, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10468332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMiragePrismatic/pseuds/theMiragePrismatic
Summary: Ascilia came to Ul'Dah with a father. She lost him, gained a new mother. When she was Ascilia, Minfilia had a different mother. Ascilia's father left his wife behind. Sometimes, the apple fall farther from one tree than the other. Minfilia discovers old bits of lives long past.(Originally posted in 'Light in the Blue Yonder', on March 13th, moved to own section.)Characters: Ascilia Warde/Minfilia & Hydaen Miles (the Hyur Midlander/CG Midlander)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons/Filling in Canon/Answering Canon Questions
> 
> Title from the saying: "The apple never falls far from the tree" meaning: family characteristics are usually inherited.  
> (But not always. And not all of them.)  
> .  
> .  
> .

Minfilia lifted the cover off the chest and smile in relief, eagerly gathering up the heavy journal in her arms. “Father’s Journal…” She had been sure she’d tucked it away somewhere but in all the hectics of the past few months, it had slipped her mind. It wasn't really a journal so much as a bundle of various writings and pamphlets, carefully - but chaotically - threaded into a great leather sleeve.  
  
Curiously, she flipped through the pages and found herself engrossed in her father’s handwriting and tales once more - of her antics, of their people’s pain, of reports - the journal was stitched together.  
  
“I should take it apart…”  
  
Urianger only needed the sections on Garlemald - she would go through her father’s personal writings and see if there ought she could add. Recultantly, she tore her eyes away from a sketch and reached into the trunk again.  
  
Her finger caught on a loop and she traced her fingers over it in confusion. what was - These pages... She peeled it apart, discovering it to be thicker and thining as she peeled, more letters appearing.   _Secret pages._  
  
Ever so carefully, she pried them apart, eyes tracing over the words. She frowned. her brow furrowed. Her eyes widened. "No..." Her fingers hesitated on the bottom of the page, worrying it, crinkling the corner between her fingers. And she turned a page.

* * *

  
“Rather far for an ambling stroll, Lia.”

It was chilly in Mor Dhona and anyway her old clothes were in a state after her ordeal in Castrum Novum. Vanava had burned them and didn’t look the least bit sorry for it. Anyway, the new robes were warmer.  
  
Ratherfrost fair glowed and her tearstained face waned into a smile as she struggled to wipe the tears away though she did not turn. “As expected - always appearing when you’re needed.”  
  
“I’ve been told it’s a gift,” Hydaen agreed, approaching. His hand settled on her shoulder and he shifted in surprise as she leaned into his chest; his arms looped around her waist, drawing her close. “Lia?”  
  
“I… I just - I just - “ Her breath was sharp, the words escaping, failing her, the torrent unable to -  
  
“Take your time.”  
  
She took a deep breath, resting her head on his shoulder and breathed. He tugged her in - he wasn't wrapped in layers of armor today, which wasn't odd but still unusual. The scent of river moss and wood clung to him and she idly brushed off bits of wood fiber. For the Scions, she had to be strong. Guide them where Louisoix could no longer. All of these people - so much older than herself.  
  
But Hydaen wouldn't let her maintain her stoic facade. Around him, she didn't  _have_ to.  
  
She breathed and remembered the crashing relief, the warmth, the tears pricking her eyes - remembering the wonderful, wonderful moment when the Warriors of Light - when her companions, former Pathwalkers, friends - had returned. When Hydaen had returned.  
  
She curled her fingers into the fabric of his carpenter’s tunic and sighed, relaxing as if he were a mattress - and he didn’t mind at all.  
  
They seemed to stay for an unknowable amount of time, simply resting in one another’s presence - her drifting closer to sleep with each careful stroke of her hair and before long her legs began to ache and they sank to the ground. Her tears dried and she snuggled into him, relaxed and at peace, his warmth radiating around her, his thumb tracing comforting circles on her back.  
  
“I found something,” she began at last, the words dragging out of her. “Where… where were you in 1562?”  
  
His brow furrowed at the change. “Southern Seas. On a ship. I was a tarboy.”  
  
“Well, when I was girl my father took me to Ul’Dah…he died when a Gobbue broke free at a parade.” It was fact. Rote. There was a pang, the remembered agony - but it had scarred over.  
  
The words bit into the wound. Her breath caught; he held her - an ever solid presence. She breathed.  
  
Hydaen hummed, his fingers carding her hair, upsetting the braids and careful arrangement, upsetting the pins. She didn’t care.  
  
“I was fortunate enough to meet Thancred; he helped me and F’lhaminn took me in.”  
  
“Your mother?”  
  
“Adopted, yes. Which …” she trailed off, the words stuck there, unknowable, glued there -   
  
Hydaen didn’t pressure her - he was easy to talk to, a good listener. “I was looking through my father’s journal," she said instead. "When I found some secret pages.”  
  
His comforting hums didn’t stop. “She supported Garlemald.”  
  
She didn't have to say it aloud. It was there. On her tongue. She didn't have say it. He knew her thoughts ere she spoke them.  
  
“…Yes. My father was a spy … but he only merely pretended to support the Empire.” She paused, losing her trail of thought, finding it again with a drum of his fingers on her shoulder - a nudge. “He thought she was doing the same… but he was - he was wrong.”  
  
The memories were faint now - she’d sensed something off. The whispers, the fear, the edge.

Mother leaving. The healers. The cloth. Mother's dead. That's what he had said. Claimed. Was it true then? Was it true _now_?  
  
The parade had been - been a way to forget. Forget for just a moment. Her father indulged her. Stealing moments of happiness.  
  
Laughter. Fireworks. Music. Dancing. 

Panick. Screaming. Gobbue, lose, roaring, cashing - dust -   
  
Falling baskets of flowers.  
  
The stonework shaking.  
  
Her father -  
  
Hydaen was squeezing her hand. The crystallized ground was cold. She curled up, edging closer. He was like heater - befitting his title. Luminary of the Ember.  
  
“My father was a spy - “  
  
He was patient when she rambled, repeating herself, breathing hitching through the unburied feelings until her words dissolved into mumbles.  
  
“They each believed - they believed the other supported their cause. Perhaps they _wanted_ to believe it. But - they were wrong. It proved false. She wasn’t pretending. She - she believed in them. Those people who - how could - “  
  
Too much. Unburied memories, rising - _clawing_ \- to the surface. She breathed. He hummed. A solid presence. A solid comforting touch, running circles on her back. Letting her burrow closer to him. A comforting hearth of a person.  
  
“He took me away. Escaped Gyr Abania before they could build the wall.” She smiled faintly. “He made it seem less terrifying than it was. I never really realized…”  
  
“And you never knew?” His gentle words guided her back on topic.  
  
She shook her head miserably. “Though I now suspect F’lhaminn did. It was she who encouraged me to take a new name.”

It was part of the reason why she liked his nickname for her ‘Lia’ - Ascilia, Minfilia.  
  
There were other reasons however. There was no reason for her adoptive mother to know the betrayal of the birth one. Her father had been a spy. She was an orphan. A simple name change. A change in clothes. No one would know. No one knew.  
  
“This doesn’t change who you are.”  
  
“I know.” She mumbled. “I just… how could she?”  
  
“Ala Mhigo was suffering. Many would have welcomed a strong leader and surrendered their values in desperation.”  
  
She nodded, numb with this new knowledge. She flopped against him and the silence was long, comforting. She vaguely got the feeling that sitting on crystalline ground for an unknowable time in the growing chilly of Mor Dhona was growing uncomfortable and they would both like to move but she really didn’t want to. Not yet. He seemed just as content to hold her as she was content to being held.  
  
“What if… what if she yet lives?”  
  
"She's irrelevant."  
  
And his blunt tone make her laugh, snort in some unknowable emotion.  
  
"She isn’t your mother anymore.” Just fact. “F'lhaminn is."  
  
She smiled, remembering the Miqo'te. They'd built the Path of Twelve together it was the reason why she’d been ‘Acting Antecedent’ with F’lhaminn flitting around, helping them in the shadows…  
  
And then -  
  
No. That didn’t matter now. She was back. She was her mother. No one else.  
  
Minfilia laughed, eyes pricking with renewed tears. “Yes - yes, you’re quite right.”  
  
Hydaen’s hand settled on her hand - firm, grounding, pulling her out of the near sleepy doze. “Perhaps some of F’lhaminn’s baked goods will cheer you up.” He suggested.  
  
“You’re just hungry.”  
  
“When did you last eat?”  
  
At her long pause - she was very certain she had an egg for breakfast - Hydaen nodded. “A three course dinner then.” Tone casual. A filling dinner  _did_ sound good right now.  
  
She yawned. Her legs were aching from being folded too long. “Food isn’t the answer to all the world’s tears.”  
  
“Sure it is.” He grinned and pulled her to her feet. He frowned; she was still clinging - drowsy and comfortable. “Lia, you have to let go now.”  
  
She hummed in disagreement, a smiling curling her lips, head shaking slightly.  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
She yelped, laughing as he swooped her into his arms, her own flinging around his neck, to hold herself. “Den!”  
  
“Lia.” His eyes were warm and fond. “Come on - food, drink and company warms the soul.”  
  
She smiled. “I surrender to your superior knowledge and expertise.”  
  
Unfortunately, he was going to have to put her down when they got back Revenant’s Toll - no need to feed the gossip.  
  
But right now -  
  
She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes drift close, his steps sure and steady.  
  
She had many role models. And the past was best left in the past and would be handled should it be rude enough to intrude.

**Author's Note:**

> Things I am always salty about: Unexplained Missing Moms. Missing Moms who are very often dead.  
> Originally Posted: 3/13/2017 9:05 PM  
> I am impressed with the speed I wrote this honestly. When you're stuck on a story write something else. This is the something else.


End file.
